Long Derelicts Poems
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ummm...just some quick thoughts... check and reflect
I sit and dissect derelicts with dialect deliberately
I think with this pen and as soon as the ink sinks in ,it instantly producing imagery
Some say it’s a gift, how I flow with my vocabs
But that aint it i been doin this s**t since 96 fill up 100's of notepads with dopeness
Practice makes perfection, nothing less than that’s sufficient
With ease and little effort I engage with the page efficient
It comes natural when writing rhymes repetitive
Scripts always sick, still so many stuck on sedatives
Not the best that ever lived, but still very clever kid
Assembling and arsenal of lyrics no one ever did
Futuristic ,linguistics, make pupils dilate
Lips split, and wrist slit, are issued when one violates
Minds neva in a violent state, i stay cool calm and collective/ smack dab in the middle of all these posers
That should be poster children for the use of contraceptives
My methods perfected , I’m tedious with written words
And a touch more impressive, once I’m finished hittin herbs
Perception is the problem when people write they b
Thinking that the lack of criticism reflects how much that they amaze kids
It’s evident there’s blatent negligence
But it’s all irrelevant, it’s quality not quantity
If some say your dope, does that mean that your a bomb emcee?
everyone else, that’s what I keep on stressing
My worst critics myself, that why I keep progressing
But it's getting depressing, bringing water to my eyes
guys stop biting s**t
Take the time use your mind and write your s**t
Just recognise the wise rise, this is knowledge being dropped
Push the phonies to the bottom, let the scholars to the top
I have pages of unfinished poems, most a menial scribble.
Thoughts, simple phrases, baited hooks without a nibble.
Rhyming lines lost like balls because of my faulty dribble
or tossed aside because my muse and I began to quibble.
How many romantic sonnets were derelicts in my head
because I didn't note them; too lazy to rise from my bed?
Unwritten, they expired when from my mind they fled.
In dawn's light they were buried as my tears were shed.
Departed is the beauty of verses that might have been,
and if I'm recognized as a 'poet,' I would consider it a sin.
I can hardly bear their death; executed like Anne Boleyn,
and its shame I feel for the loss. I'm riddled with chagrin.
I wish those phrases had burrowed deep inside my mind,
those I no longer recall. The forsaken ones I left behind,
abandoned unintentionally, those I have hastily maligned
with neglect or passivity. To grieve for them, I am resigned.
Should I pen a plethora of poems and ten thousand more,
my guilt would never be erased, so I write this with candor
and a pledge to face this litany that I undertake as a chore,
to value my flowing thoughts as ones I should never ignore.
October 7th, 2022
Growing up, I became aware of you
As the god you gotta get by
The things I truly desired, silent
Covered fitly in "not good" sighs
In my day, children were barely seen
And their words never contradict
All the will and "well meaning" adults
Who in secret, were derelicts
.....dressed in their Sunday Best
I found that path to be empty lies
Piled upon servitude and obligation
Supernatural experiences,periodically
Seemed to break up the monotonous sensation
....of life
Life, that was no life, and I called you on it
Show up, be real, or get the hay out of dodge
...YOU DID
I began to walk with you, talk with you, know you
Made a place in my heart where you could lodge
...in moments when it was safe to FEEL
For over thirty years, you have been there
As the getting by god
No matter what sorrow, suffering
Or rocky, difficult road I was asked to trod....through
Now, you want me to leave all of my coping tools
My well constructed, very familiar workbench
And follow you...into new...without a clue
......darkness, really!?!
I've been set up, I have lost the ability to dream
My joy drained in every advance of the enemy
Again and again, I got up and walked
Irritated at what you required of me
I trust you.....but I have long since
Enjoyed your company
Have forgotten how to know your heart
Thinking, what's the point of you hearing mine
The tremendous loss of what I could have been
And the utter disappointment of who you made me to be
Drains me...I'm light-headed
I need a reset...
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-17-2022
Note: Not a work of art. I just needed to process. Thanks for viewing.
The chord wrapped around his neck
As he was unwilling to pay the penalty of the law
Why should he bow his knee to derelicts
When he had preached against the sin of the fall
She came in looking all cute and coy
She's a girl, I'm a boy...a very little boy
We'll play a game in secret and feel connected
I'll tell her life will be destroyed if "IT" is unprotected
What a wonderful WORD to deliver to the hopeless
Spiritual leadership has the highest protection
When the flesh ROARS at little girls and boys
They cover "the fall" from open detection
Denial is a weapon against ignorant liars
Rushing around, stirring up blazing fires
The institution must survive all attacks
Lest our deceptive nation show what it lacks
......TRUTH.....
For those who are called to walk in LOVE
Caesar's due must be paid, first
Drunkards, Harlots, Murderers and Thieves
In prison, while predators give drink to those who thirst
But the one who bore all the guilt and shame
Hung on a Cross, innocent, without blame
Humility will come, unbidden, without recourse
The heart will submit or harden without remorse
....in the balance....
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-28-2024
"I'm hearing images, I'm seeing songs no poet has ever painted
Voices call out to me, straight to my heart"
Cold, emotionless, and her nature, defiant
Hard to connect with as well as unreliant
A boarding school for outcasts such as Wednesday
Revenge for brother, brings on her sinister way
Dysfunctional families—ivory towers make wagers
Enrolled are lost souls and morbid teenagers
Like Arkham Asylum, a long and brutal history
Medieval mayhem come to life again in her story
Nevermore Island, Romania’s Nevermore Academy
Unconventional practices become their enemy
Designed for students with extreme personalities
Who don’t think their practices convey abnormalities
Is an all American coming-of-age supernatural
Tangled in spider silk or it’s web, which is factual?
And there it is the unscrupulous psycho-therapist
A principal’s shapeshifter and her sorceress rapist
Forcing thoughts back into some semblance of order
Werewolves, vampires, gorgons, and sirens who boarder
Are the architectural texts with applications ubiquitous
And the requisite archaic desperate mass exodus
Dark long tresses, paints it black in gothic dresses
Many who are romantic interests she addresses
Rises to an ovation with a most clever shadow dance
Sanity, reason, balance, rationality, and much arrogance
Behind the smiling facade of normality where lie derelicts
There lurks a psychopathic serial killer, and other convicts
Beyond their control, declined their world of decadence
Insanity, lunacy, madness, the outcasts show no evidence
Highly severe psychological and physical illnesses?
Or real paranormal abominations and alien devises
Guiding her are messages from the beyond with passion
Her lecture combined intellectual lucidity and compassion
(or, "Your Old Stomping Ground")
There’s a secretary that I know
whose husband recently died
But life somehow continues as before
She has to keep replicating the myth
that everything’s all right –
A savant of the copy machines
A mannequin in a megastore
There’s a child that I know
who goes to school with bruises
Just a shell of a thing bearing signs
of a nightly artillery attack
When did we start sending
our kids to the frontlines,
And when in the name of Christ
are we calling them back?
You just pretend
Things aren’t crazy
The bandleader’s not deaf
And the King is not a clown
So you defend
The last vestiges of confidence
And stick your flag in the last square
Of your old stomping ground
There’s a family that I know
they only speak in whispers
Afraid to raise their voices
for fear of an alcoholic’s rage
I wonder how they’ll fare
twenty years from now:
Will they ever rise up from their manacles
or their transparent cage?
And there’s a young man that I know
Has his whole life ahead of him
Still stuck on the diving board
over a pool of unemployment
Just wait a while, just wade awhile
Cling to your inflated promises
While you’re stuck in this limbo, might as well
Drown in your enjoyments
You just pretend
It’s getting late now
And the party’s letting out
The stragglers and the drunkards head
for another port of call.
Yet suspect the hosts, the powers that be,
in their senility, misplaced our keys
So we derelicts wander directionless
Like half-ghosts bumping into walls
But we just pretend…
Hello bosom friend
I hope you get this piece quick
oh! my bad,how do you fair?
pleasantries almost skipped my reasoning
I was told of your matrimony
From you, the seed that emanated
when you behold this thoughtful missive
and you have the whole narrative in your grip
you will unearth my heart's unfoldings
of grave grievance, no one can appease
succinctly grasp the volume of this rage
I say, read carefully through the lines
even if you have to squint through that veil
if i am to choose
between your present and past
I would say, let your past prevail
For then, I knew the essence of your smile
You weren't by hypocritical law, constrained
That face speaks of solace even ibn grimace
oh! that face speaks volume
Needless to say,you are elegant in fitted fabrics
Lost under your tutelage
You brought life to every boring cause
Your angelic beau, replicates purity of-course
You were our sunshine
Before the Arabian cowries bought you over
He came from a foreign land
And bestowed on you, a diadem
I learnt you were betrothed to an assumed cleric
The telltale notion of ardent Islamist
Raised anxiety for future occurrences
I envisaged you in this state
But won't your devotion debate
Now my memory of you is impaired
by your sudden immersion
I feel as though it's been crushed by a saw
That even while you are in front of me
I see you no more
Oh! how impelling a tenet
Evil I say
God forbid that this is of God
No!
It's a spell
From the stench of hell
That one's existence be hidden for a lifetime
To conceive a man's satisfaction
my friend
In this transition,
Did you and your aspirations converse?
How much of a communicator would you be now
Under that veil
You relegated your dreams to derelicts
Making a living in the street corners
while you remain a descendant of vague relic
A full grown lady, covered in babygro
In those chains,inform of soft clothings
Do you find comfort or otherwise
Ode to a gracious lass i used to know
Now aloof she stands with no Identity
Please when your seed shall grow
Let her have no taste of your captivity.
Never yet knowing when your days will end trying so hard to do your best till then
Times not as friendly as it ought to be wheels are turning faster for all to see
Make time, take time, or time will take you it’s go time in no time, so try something new
We can’t let troubles haunt all our time embrace every moment of sunsets sublime
Cast all your worries right out to sea times of the essence if you want to be free
Time matters not when your life is through forget all the derelicts, they haven’t a clue
We don’t have time to be fooled and unkind too little too late is what we will find
So, make time, take time or time will take you it’s go time in no time so try something new.
Robin Hood
The Boys from the Hood are always hard...Robin laughs in mockery,
for he is the thief among thieves, swift, hard, so intelligently...
A lifestyle for most buried in the Hood, 23 square blocks of misery,
but not for he, oh know Mr. Hood takes pleasure in using this as...
as his... Metaphorical hideout tree...In bad company...King Thief...
Here amongst the derelicts, addicts, gangs, and overall bad men,
he is an Omen, an unlucky out of place casuality of urban demographics.
He is sly, so sly like the fox, letting all of the immoral degenerates around him
get blamed for all of his bad stuff, all of his illegal escapades they take the blame.
Why? Because he is the King Thief, a thief without greed for he feeds who needs.
So people here hold him in reverie, like a King, but just a thief with a good plan,
he understands what others can't comprehend...He has a plan...And many fans...
Robin Mr. Original Boy in the Hood, he took it all just because he could,
leaving the rest of the Boys from the Hood to think that they're hard...
Poetry Contest: A twisted poem about Robin Hood:
Sponsered by:C.T.
bmdavey@
02/12/16
Slips marked and mapped across the intercoastal waterways
a scanning breached out of high low tidal waves,
silent, still, obscure, and not well hidden
liveaboards hold steady isolated sheltered misgivings;
embedded and anchored in place
buoys secure contested living space,
Matanzas Pass, Sarasota fields, Titusville and Sunset Bay
the Gulf Stream Key Largo flow a mainstay;
honker down between the wind, the rain, and sun
vessels sturdy and rickety, short and long - all come,
house and home hum interludes for a sing-along,
push aways and pull in tights
safeaways and derelicts amidst stormy plights
resident and transient, occupied and abandoned
faceless vacancies, sequestered and random,
marinas and harbors within hurricane holds in tandem,
dockmasters and dock slips. environmental folds alluring
beleaguered and bewildered landlocked sailors touring
in their trawlers, boats, cruisers and yachts adoring
September shelters in the Florida moorings.