It's there, been there all along
Just hanging out, like a tag
Telling those looking upon
That your dressing skills have a snag
...inattentive
Every environment, no matter where
The air is thick with loosh, like sludge
The anger and pull for power
Lingers like a long held grudge
...suppression
Governments and systems carry it
The way the movements push and pull
Grabbing and gaining other's goods
For the punishment of following the rule
...submission
Then, there's the string of religions awry
Everyone can have a God to serve
Making all the words and deeds behave
For rewards the worshiper knows they deserve
...inventive
All leading the probe in the rotten roots
Diving deeper into every new world
Those who have held power, until now
Having to endure TRUTH be unfurled
...impatience
Yes...patience is the KEY...and they will never have it!!!
Written by Trudy Schrader on 08-20-2026
He saw the car coming
From the back seat, unsecured
She was rushed to the hospital
Relatives silenced what he endured
Scared already of what could be
He fed the dogs as he should
The attack was intense and quick
As adults checked, that the dogs were good
He lost his home, community, friend
His dog, and way of life, left behind
His parents found the spirit
Security of a child given to the divine
Pushed out of the bed of a truck
By a friend who just wanted to see
If a little harm to another
Would end up how he thought it would be
Boys gotta be tough and unyielding
To every tragedy they've gone through
Dismissed and downplayed by adults
Who didn't want to deal with the task of being true
...to LOVE
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-24-2026
Meanwhile...
Covering The Idle
Space Between...
Mourning Doves
Dominate With
Loving Stupidity...
***
Nope.
Squirrels AND Doves...
'Stand Corrected.'
-Gray Squirrel
05-04-2026
I plucked the moon from the sky last night.
No one else seemed to be using it
So, I thought, “Why not?”
I mistakenly thought it would fit comfortably in my pocket
But, it bulged, protruded, and made it difficult to sit!
“Stupid moon!
What good are you?” I grumbled.
A TV news anchor rattled on about
Potential collapsed ecosystems, climate chaos, and mass extinctions.
All around me
Would-be lovers unraveled their arms and parted ways and
Dreamers no longer looked to the sky.
“The world has gone mad,” I muttered.
“But, at least I have this shiny rock, even if it IS a pain in the rear.”
However, it kept tugging, pulling, and wouldn’t stay still.
Determining it not worth the trouble,
I relinquished the object to the night
And went to dwell in a crazy world.
An old Mallard dines alone
A memory on the edge of the flock
A weaker yet still viable member
An inattentive sentry
Sifting grey mud
Chasing soggy bread crumbs
The sun warms his weary wings
As the river draws him away
A Great Blue Heron nods G’Day
A flutter stirs in my chest,
Awaking it from its inattentive rest.
As a tiny butterfly wing unfurled,
To unleash a quake in nether world.
Such chaos reeks as tremor grows,
It billows and flaps as tempest bestows,
An effect far beyond what reason deserves,
From a flip of wing, hors d'oeuvres.
A simple glance, a glint from eye,
Triggers my heart to offbeat awry,
To blast a chain reaction melee!
All order is lost - May Day, May Day!
A wing flap in Brazil, a tornado in Texas brings,
A tiny ripple in the cosmos that sings,
A reverberating chaotic chorus to heart strings,
Tuned to quiver sympathetic, to resonant dings.
Where is the shepherd
Who left behind his livestock
At the Lover's Seat?
The hired hand sleeps
Inattentive to the flock
The sheep go their way
They are unaware
There is danger near the cliffs
Though the grass is sweet
Where is the Shepherd
Will he retrieve his people
From the Sinner's Seat?
Gaelic: it was my mother's native tongue,
and her grandmother’s elder tongue.
Grandfather was a Romani gypsy,
horses naturally understood his voice.
My lips follow English,
a tangled language with too many roots,
tuberosities awkwardly clumped together,
like hard and lumpy potato soup -
a dish My Irish mother made
with an inattentive gusto...
her pink tongue licking the corners of her mouth,
as she slopped the part-cooked pottage out
into thick porcelain bowls.
She had quite forgotten her mother tongue,
or how to respect the potato,
and its historical significance to all in exile.
My own tongue was young and tender,
and too hungry to care. Already I instinctively knew
how to take my lumps.
Was it something I said inadvertently
Did my eyes reveal uncertainty
O, why'd you leave
Was my rapt listening inattentive
Or passion's kisses uninventive
O, how I grieve
Alcohol, not once did I abuse
Or narcotics ever use
O, the sighs I've heaved
To the kids, I was devoted
On your mother, I always doted
O, please believe...
That now I'll never be the same
That I'll forever myself blame
~ To your memory, I will cleave
Images of incineration interrupt
Infernal imagery imposes in intricate intervals, illegible to those ill with ignorance
Inadequate ideologies imply impoverish ways, never to be incriminated no matter how idiotic
Inattentive to our imaginary inflation issues
Improvident to the waste of industrial indispensables
Keep ignoring the impending invasion and downward inclination or intercept the intrusion on your intellect and intervene
Invent instinctively into your own invincibility
An influx of idiots with no positive incline, our inability to feel insults our intelligence
Intolerant insecurities about income and the "it" influences impair our inner insight
This IS an impeachment against the institutions for informing the incredulous and inciting the irrelevant
I will stand intrepidly, inheriting the impending inferno
You get no breaks from dumb mistakes
For when you’re inattentive,
You’re bound to miss or else dismiss
A step that is preventive.
An extra glance may make the chance
Of messing up much lower,
As will a pause and that’s because
When we do things much slower…
We’ll likely spot the things we’d not
When we are in a hurry
And thus prevent the time we’ve spent
Consumed by doubt and worry.
Of course, in life, there must be strife
And if we make a fumble,
It doesn’t pay to waste all day
In irritating grumble.
Estranged
He walks about with twelve toes.
They talk about the landing of UFOs over walkie-talkies,
and bog the sympathy of spectators
with manufactured grief,
making their feelings lose contact
with the breaking world.
Nobody could close the Grand Canyon in the soul of a demon who wishes to share his stories with inattentive passers-by
behind face masks and headphones.
Roaming around,
down in the dirt,
with a forgotten passport
that has no facial code
in Times Square.
When one reaches the heady heights of longevity
frail as in wear and tear physical agility,
a license to look upon each imminent birthday
celebrated by all in sundry but one’s bemused self,
as a reminder of the ultimate arbiter, time
soon to come a calling with his rigid agenda.
With every sunrise this perpetual antagonist
whom delves in give and take creates the perfect diagnosis,
when he allows one a moment to dwell in years of their youth
then a fraction of an anomaly, forgotten one’s name.
© Harry J Horsman 2016
I cried for you today,
tears of living in your absence.
Maybe not so much for you
but rather,
my own selfishness in missing you.
I await the time of healing,
of getting beyond the loneliness.
It doesn't seem possible,
so many things
stir up your memory.
I was so blinded
by the nonsense of the world.
I must have been inattentive,
oblivious to what we shared
when you were here.
Why did you put up with me
and love me
with all my flaws?
I am grateful beyond words
and what lies in my recollected memories.
Maybe now, at last,
I can see
the reality of who we were.
I was nothing and no one
by myself.
I cried for you today,
realizing you loved me more
than I ever loved you.
The Gate
is wide and spacious
but overgrown with vined flowers.
If you are inattentive and preoccupied,
you would miss it
and pass the entry way
that eases on the step stones to the pond.
Therein, the waterfall cascades
sometimes softly, sometimes loudly
depending on the wind;
and the fish swim in schools
encircling the rocks
until they spy your shadow.
They greet you with hungry, open mouths
swimming toward the edges;
life is so simple here.
The gate greets all comers,
human and animal,
insect and plant,
sun and moon.
The gate is always open,
Come,
See.
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