Long Cackles Poems
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I'd steal it back—
my poem that she posted as her own.
I'd name her plainly, demand
a public apology—
an admission of hypocrisy
from the one who keeps her hands clean,
grins like a simpleton, cackles
like she's getting away with it,
this even meaner magic.
Navel-gazing Narcissus
must not have realized
I was never planning to stay
quiet. I am nothing
if not a truthful storyteller.
Now here’s the frame:
I wrote it as an example
to model the concept of structure.
She'd dumped her word jumble of a draft
into my lap—again, unprompted, long past
my repeated requests
that she please, please stop doing that.
What I wrote, for those familiar with craft,
is called an after poem. Ironic,
since she didn’t tell me until after it was posted—
after it collected accolades,
after it scratched her inexhaustible itch for praise.
She can keep the cursed thing
at this stage—
still even my saying that doesn't make it hers
or mean she wrote it.
Just that I'm giving in
to the pathetic, spinning fantasy
over a piece that wasn't even my best work.
I get sick with pity when I think of it,
when I spot her avatar, check her list—
to see my work still sitting there,
near the middle section of her page six—
She pissed away our friendship
for a few pixels distributed by strangers,
and that's not even the worst of it,
but I only have time and energy
for one plot twist.
I’ve befriended these corners and gripped onto time,
comfortably content with the ghosts in my broken nights,
like hollow frames without their unspoken canvases.
Within those walls, I’ve let my charcoal pin dance
to the sounds of your devious poison that put you in a tragic trance ,
the vibratos of your cackles and joyful glances.
How you took my empty lungs on a ride of jubilance,
how bruises and blood became souvenirs of resilience,
softening the barbs and shortening my tolerance.
You’ve shown me how humor is a forsaken brilliance.
In your arms and in your heart,
every sunrise became ecstatic art.
I wonder if you could still see,
through the surreal skies and chaotic clouds,
how everything you’ve left in me beams in a sea of crowds.
Your smile was my lesson in molding mercy,
and the snort that came after was my sanctuary.
I wonder how many feathered fairies seek you to make their day,
leaving them breathless with nothing left to say.
One day, we shall meet again,
when I’m buried by a fleet of birth-bound men,
through the magical doorway beneath a six-foot hole.
On that day, we shall gather our dancing coals.
She said some words and blackbirds cawed
As she stirred her cauldron to a goblin's applaud
Her nose was crooked, her skin was green
As her cackles echoed on Halloween
The Halloween night was filled with gloom
As she patrolled the skies on her trusty broom
She was looking for stragglers, those who lagged behind
Then she'd swoop down and catch them, their fate unkind
The first one she brought back began to scream
But this only made the old hag's eyes gleam
She waved her hand to and fro
And turned him into a crow!
Then off again on her broom she flew
As her cauldron bubbled with a fearsome brew
She saw another straggler dawdling by a gate
She swooped down swiftly to seal his fate
All her victims would scream and scream
Wishing and hoping they were in a dream
10-11-2024
When entire world walks toward sunlight
I decide to stay in moonlight
When whole world cackles
I prefer to keep quiet
They all are doing similar deeds
They all are enjoying the way they proceed
I decided not to do what they do
And let my thoughts to get brew
For there is fun in that
Being different from the rest
Though every one is, in some ways, distinct
And every one thinks like this
Yet they all follow the same track
I am a freak, they might think
But I don’t give a damn
For living a secluded life
And making your own route
Is like having the sweetest fruit
And the prettiest flower
Life is beautiful one you travel on your own path
(~Paghunda)
Can't you see the vibrant reds decorate the horizon?
The leaves crumble, but the trunk remains stuck in position
The two birds swoop by, they're just like you and I
Floating to the canopy to gather materials to nest
But once they arrive, the tree's roots have gone dry
Nothing for the young lovers with future plans
Once they set off, the tree cackles quietly
It fools the ones who need it the most
And for those who were born with gold in their palms?
They get the most of the leaves and the shielding bark
But the poisoned sap left afterwards tricks each con artist
Sweet like maple syrup, it churns the gut and stops the heart
For every day of mockery was like a yellow sign wielding caution
Even the plants which are twisted like chain link
Had motives and viewpoints, while reserved and cunning...
Walking about, neither here nor there
Just doing life, anywhere
Finding it to be...such a weighty affair
Throwing off childhood shackles
Silencing insecurities cackles
The fire still sparks and crackles
....even in the embers
Empty, full, that's the rule
That binds me to this sorrow
Lather, rinse, repeat
Today, and again tomorrow
Over and over, up and down
To this jumbled rhythm of deafening sound
At some point, I stopped the meaning
For the matter seemed to be deeming
...insane
In the process, of coming out
I went in....to an abyss
Now at peace in the dark
But feeling like there's something I miss
How can there be lack
When love is ever present
I believe it's the war against fear
That is tedious and very unpleasant
....icky, sticky, stinky, filth
Walking with family in a mall
To the left, I heard a call
There, hanging on a rack
Was a perfect blue dress, that took me back
...to me
In a instant, all of my thought gathered
For a "Come to Jesus" meeting
Joy is in eternal peace
That can't be influenced by the feelings beating, cheating, then permanently fleeting
Joy stays
It knows
It grows
No matter what the soul goes through
Joy holds the purity of blue
That reflects LOVE in the expression of you
Written by Trudy Schrader on 08/04/2021
Note: Blue is love.
THREE PLUS ONE EQUALS FUN
Once upon a time, no fairytale,
there lived three of us kids,
washing dishes, rolling dice,
kissing mom and dad
goodnight.
Next upon a time, mama
cozily on her bed, yelled out
names and we joined
in this new game…
The three of us, just right for oz...we were the lollipop kids.*
And my brother wanted a monkey, not a sister or brother.
Yet three plus one brought so much fun.
Our sister was fashionable,
funny right from the start,
not a Dollar Store sort.
She loves red lipstick,
leopard patterns
and the Big Apple.*
No doubt three plus one caused our cackles to soar.
Thank goodness the ‘rents stopped or there’d be more.
2/12/2020
What's In A Number Poetry Contest
Sponsor is Juliet Ligon
Reference to the lollipop kids is from The Wizard of Oz
Big Apple is a nickname for New York City
Dollar Store - American store where each item costs 1 dollar
‘rents is short for parents
Cut to the chase after tan hat man!
Though reading horror stories
gearing up as strawberry spring fest
full throttle danse (macabre),
an only every now and again predilection
genre crazy wave
washing over me like
a killer tsunami,
harboring pier rill less night surf
(subsequently fueling figurative
hair razing close shave
critical desperation) to save
thine scrawny ****,
(a derriere laughing stock,
and hence cheeky of me to rave),
what you put
in a Margarita,
those rare occasions satiated, when
hung over insomnia heavily bulging,
rheumy myopic blood shot eyes
nonetheless lock into
vital opening sentence determining,
whether adroit kingly author
nimbly setting the stage and pave
ving what thenceforth, pro
misses tubby a cell out ace
in the hole captive audience
skeleton crew exhuming a grave
grim reaper they crave
(me, this apt pupil), doth brace
himself by all counts once
a bad little kid deserving, well...now...
just a bag of bones,
who fiendishly cackles
analogous to screeching
linkedin deafening banshee
when leaning in (Sheryl Sandberg like),
whereat after opening sentence,
an instantaneous big bang
possessive gnarly hand
forcibly grabs my attention
presaging and frightening
yours truly (juiced in case
ye did not know),
where within the bazaar
of bad dreams epic,
which seems like forever,
when I finally erase
and exorcise the bogeyman who,
regally, masterfully, immediately,
dramatically got woven
lady chattery teeth and all
withering wicked warp and woof
establishing (proof positive),
an excellently crafted
Chiral Mad heavily shades
of night are falling
gussying haunting place,
where the color of evil permeates
every cerebral space
with darkness, said
sub rosa prime evil punctuates
the mind of this dream catcher,
whence after four past midnight
the reaper's image appears
sending adrenaline rush,
surreal augmented moving pictures,
viz flight or fight
courtesy third eye blind
did, when firestarter alarm didst grind
passage of time manifesting dark forces
blaze zing atavistic fear itself lined
up battleground formation
from the borderlands of my mind
this even before turning
the first page where the eyes
of drag'n my afterlife
glowed with radiant shining
where suspense didst wind.
All the President's memes;
Rose up into an army of stems;
They grew bold legs to carry them,
Towards the good fight.
Though cavalier and sensing right;
They lacked a head to give foresight;
They strayed into a chasmed height,
And tumbled in.
They spiralled, spinning through an age;
Passed darkened chambers, retrograde;
And filled with colored animades,
In sectioned aisles.
Here gall-eyed figures mocked them all;
With cackles, boos and whistled calls;
Rejoiced the epic fall unfold,
Before their eyes.
A voice boomed out as stems rained down;
And pacified the baying crowd;
This mighty scribed the building mound,
With an epitaph.
"That you did dare to set back time,
To turn around and redefine,
What Nature has herself refined,
This is your path.
And what you'll meet at bottom's end,
Will be a sad reflection friend,
Of empires built, destroyed again,
And gone from sight"
I can hear the sounds
cackles of the birds
drowning out the world
the noise, the senselessness
what does matter
does it matter
I've my own distractions
destruction, biding at my time
but is it really my time
or a sentence to live in a trap
where there's no way out but death
but is death really out,
and if so is life in
I like to believe I'm in
reality,
not living a fantasy
where everything's the written word
and life is left long ago
to bleed out in the night
I don't know
wrong, right
is there a line,
what if I dare cross it tonight?
but I care
I do care
it's time to live
it's time to live,
call to me
come on over
let me be that lover
where the winds strike
music beats
romancing the moon and the night
I will listen
you will hear
what really lives,
beyond
the greens, the blues
merging
breathing, gasping
grasping for me,
grasping for you